#77 SECOND JOB
#77 SECOND JOB
(Americana)
(DEMO)
(Full Arrangement)
I get home, hang up my hard hat
Kitchen table, cold beer, red scraped skin.
You get home, sigh, bottle from the freezer,
I swig my beer, you sip your gin.
Different night, our same places,
You say you hate what I did at O'Grady's.
I say all you do is count my wrongs,
And I wasn't smiling at those ladies.
Tonight the work's starting early,
You're pacing, pointing, shaking your head.
Slam my beer down, chip the bottle.
You roll your eyes, then say "Just like I said."
I get a fresh beer, twist the cap,
Lean against the counter, try hard not to fume.
Say "You can't see a good time when you're in one,"
Stretch my arms out, taking in the room.
One last round of yelling,
As you're packing up to go,
You shout I won't take a telling,
I growl all you know is no.
Leaving's no time for lying,
And your hand's now on the knob.
Loving you is more work,
Than working a second job.
Now so quiet since you left,
TV-watching, soaking in a warm bath
Unwashed dishes, unread mail
Our photos on the walls, I walk right past.
Couple of weeks turn to couple of months,
Back on the apps, dating's been a bust.
Finally start tidying, room by room,
Taking down those wall photos, think about us.
I know I don't miss the yelling,
But I do miss when you'd brush your hair,
And when you'd catch me watching
You smile, small nod, say "Don't just stare."
Lonely's no time for lying,
Kept shouting past each other because
Finding our way to love was more work,
Than us both working second jobs.
I get home, toss the hard hat on a chair
On the couch, cold beer, red scraped skin.
After a while, pull that bottle from the freezer,
Swig my beer, stare at the last of your gin.